An elegant, yet nefariously crafted arrow rests in leg of a nameless sacrifice in Jericho’s arena. I’ve known quite a few barbaric weapons in my time here, but never one like this. The arrow penetrates the skin, with the tip exploding internally like a grenade. The debris is coated in a toxin that poisons the blood of the victim with demon blood. Due to biological factors I don’t fully understand, this poison blood drives the human victim mad as their mind becomes consumed with delusions of pure evil. While the poison in their body would kill them in just under an hour, the mental toll sends them into a shock no human being can withstand. An amount less than could fit on a grain of salt is enough to require an average person to go through intense psychiatric consultation for years if they manage to survive. The amount contained in this arrow is approximately three hundred times that amount. One would find a more pleasant experience in the mind of a child murderer than whatever this man will experience for the next few minutes before he simply dies from taxation.
I look up to where Jericho is watching, an area most closely compared to a roman pulvinus. He smiles at me. I look next to him to his human guard Longbow, who is just now putting his bow back on his shoulder after delivering the fatal shot. I know there is no way to argue.
The man lying on the ground, presently imagining what it’s like to take pleasure in purposely starving a small town, had attempted to swing on me after his victory. I escorted him to the arena for his battle with a condemned demon with the promise that if he won, he would escape his own execution, though he would forever be a prisoner in Jericho’s ever growing collection of slaves. Once he was beyond the fear of dying, the prospect of spending the rest of his life here became too much to bear. I could have handled him, but Jericho would take no chances with his prized fighter. He didn’t even need to give the command.
I think nothing of it, well, except for one thing. I let a couple of other demons carry me out of the arena and back into the barracks. I’ve become nose blind to the spilled blood of other humans unfortunately sentenced to this place. I see a young man trying to push some of his innards back in through a deep wound. I hear the psychotic break of a young woman who can’t accept that she’s never leaving. Demons speak in their unique language, words I hardly understand, but pointing and laughter means the same in every language. I ask my escort for company to be sent to my cell: two names in particular. He scowls at me, but does as he is told. He knows that any human given the authority to use their chosen name rather than their assigned name has more favor than he can ever hope to accumulate.
“Yes, Akita.” He says.
All heads close enough to hear this exchange turn to look at me. Most of them have not heard their own names since they’ve been here and likely won’t again. The time spent here ranges from a few days to a few decades. The interesting thing about life under these conditions is that the longer you live, the longer you are likely to live. I have carried out many regrettable actions to get to a place where I can abandon the name Mara and go back to being Akita; I can’t imagine not hearing my name for decades.
When I arrive at my cell, the bearded man known as En Garde is already waiting for me. He greets me with a faint smile that I hardly notice. What is more noticeable is the small cut on his cheek, already cleaned and mended as much as possible.
“The bastard kept a razor blade under his tongue. He was going for my neck. Might have been a decent story if it had worked.” En Garde says to me.
“Captured in battle?” I ask.
“Intentionally so. He heard about the screening process, thought Jericho would oversee it personally. He meant to take him out.”
“I guess if I found myself in a fight against you’d I’d have to spoil whatever my ace in the hole is too.”
“Don’t speak of such things. My reputation grows, as does Jericho’s interest in me. I shudder to imagine the day he believes both of our participation is redundant.”
“I am the will of Goliath. You are the premiere warrior of Jericho’s little circus.” I say to reassure him.
“And how long will that last? Doesn’t it ever creep in at night, the thought that you could one day be ushered onto that sulfuric pit and standing opposite of you could be me?”
I have appreciated En Garde’s willingness to show vulnerability over the last few months. The first words I exchange with him leads me to believe he isn’t the sentimental type. It seems all he is interested in is biding his time until he can be sent on assignment and attempt to escape. I wish I could say that I would never hurt him just to advance my own agendas, but truthfully, if he was the only one standing in the way of liberation for me and my mother, I’d regrettably but conclusively dispatch him.
“I choose not to spend time of things that will never happen. We have enough to worry about day to day.”
En Garde leans against one of the walls, averting his eyes. I know he’s older than me, probably by ten years or more. Too old to consider a potential partner, but a dear friend…it could work if not for this place. If I did have to kill him, I would not remain numb as I have through some of the other acts of violence.
I attempt to speak with him more as we wait for Longbow, the other man whose presence I requested, but En Garde remains distant. I fear I have caused irreparable damage to our relationship. His responses are short, one or two words at most. His voice cracks when he speaks. He finally shares another full thought.
“I don’t think it is hypothetical. I think it is inevitable. The thought of hurting you makes me sick, and you can’t be bothered to consider it at all.”
“You can’t expect me to invest so much energy into that idea. Life is too dangerous to be distracted in such a way. Going down that path only leads to mental anguish, more so for me than you.”
“More so for you?” En Garde leaps off the wall and has closed the distance. I instinctively reach for my sword, forgetting that the demons disarm us after we enter the barracks. It’s clear that I have to end this conversation quickly.
“You are a brave warrior, and you continue to make the demons pay for their Achilles heel of underestimating us. But there is no sense in wasting time on this thought, not only because it is unlikely to happen, but because it is a foregone conclusion.”
“Speak plainly, girl.”
“Your life is forfeit the moment we face off. I was trained by Malachi and Goliath. I don’t think about it because killing you offers me no joy, but it is the end point. Not hypothetical…inevitable.”
“Lovers quarrel?” Longbow says from the other side of the cell door. He leans to one side as if he doesn’t need to be prepared for anything. He smirks the way the demons do, with a sense of invincibility, the kind of arrogance you only acquire by standing so close to Jericho. He elects to prove his status by pulling a key from beneath his arm band and unlocking the cell door. The white of his armor offers the faintest illumination and his fur cape drags behind him. He’s been here before, but his smile fades as he steps inside and his nose points to the sky. He removes his fur and folds it, placing it on my bed.
“I’ll never understand why you choose to live in such conditions. As the Scourge, surely you can ask for anything you want.” Longbow says.
“Goliath discourages unnecessary materialistic indulgences.” En Garde answers, though he is invoking my own testimonial.
“I suppose that explains the bed, growing wardrobe and knickknacks.” Longbow waits, almost as if he is expecting a pat on the back for his rude, albeit fair assessment.
What follows is an uncomfortable silence. En Garde and I have spoken a few times before now about the problem Longbow is starting to become. He stands tall, just as arrogantly as ever, as if whatever the problem is can’t have anything to do with him. I don’t blame him. I think back to my adversarial relationship with Klesec and how many times I disregarded his opinion because I had the approval of Goliath.
“It’s bad form to embarrass me like that.” I finally say to him.
“Embarrass? I merely did what was ordered of me. Isn’t that the great narrative, the thing that divorces us from all the awful things we do?”
“He surrendered his life when he raised his hand against me, but that is for me to sort out, not for you to handle from across the threshold safe from any kind of reprisal. What will the demons think of the Scourge if she appears to need rescuing in such an underhanded way?”
Longbow shrugs. “If they are honest with themselves, they’ll think we are beginning to adopt their ways. Isn’t that what they want?”
“Assimilation is the desire of the more evolved militant among them. This place is not for that, it is for entertainment. A human made weak through action or perception is not long for this world.” En Garde says.
“No one who takes the sulfur is long for this world.” Longbow argues. “Why do you think I have made it my business to stand next to Jericho?”
En Garde beats me to a response, articulating almost exactly what I am thinking, but with one notable difference. “You didn’t make it your business. You crafted an evil torture device and it impressed him so much that he had to have you. It figures that you would create something that doesn’t require you to have any real fighting ability, no skill of any kind.”
“And you think my aim is not a skill?”
“It’s developing.” I interrupt. “But we know the story. You were only captured because you missed your pursuer. I don’t think you made that toxin to ensure any victories on the sulfur. I think you made it specifically to sell out to Jericho.”
“What does it matter?” For the first time, Longbow’s smirk slips. He tenses around the jaw. “You two talk as if there is some noble justification for being here, as if your means of survival is better than my means of survival.”
“I don’t mean to simply survive here. You don’t understand the damage you do when you compromise our image. Three weeks ago, I was to do battle with Twin Fang. You whispered in Jericho’s ear and suddenly I am not to fight.”
“Twin fang would have killed you.” Longbow says. I am inclined to agree, though I want nothing more than to dismiss everything he says.
En Garde looks away, as if he knows it to be true as well. “Maybe…likely. But had I fought him and killed him, it would have increased my stock dramatically. One step closer to building a case for the field.”
“The field?” Longbow taunts. “You think the things you do here are vile?”
“I don’t seek to be part of any regime. I intend to flee at the first opportunity. I will fly from this place, same as Ox.”
“If Ox has not become part of some demon’s stew, he will be soon. What a fool to think there is anything left of life besides what happens here. A violent life followed by a violent death, and maybe, if not too much has been sacrificed along the way, redemption on the other side.” Longbow says.
My hand reaches for my chest to soothe the pain of my heart, but I catch myself before that can happen. If something dreadful has happened to Ox, I would not be able to stand it. If even he can’t hope for life beyond here, what chance do my mother and I have of ever escaping and living well? I imagine her in her cell right now, not completely ignorant of what I’ve become, but not nearly as enlightened as she would like to believe she is. All I do, I do to one day free her.
“You speak of redemption, but you did not even try to avoid the darkness. You took the easy way out as soon as you could. Have you given any thought to what might happen if your toxin is developed for military use?” I ask.
“I give no thought to life beyond here. I will never see it. You two will never see it. What is the point of fighting off the inevitable. There are ways to make this life more tolerable; I simply bargained on my own behalf.”
“Is the possibility of freedom not a good enough reason to risk death, or perhaps greet it in full?” En Garde places his hands on Longbow’s shoulders. “Tell me the idea of freedom doesn’t inspire even a sliver of desire to fight.”
“I am here because I can’t fight. What waits for me if I ever chose to run? Looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life? All around the world, they have this exact conversation, weigh these same options. I will not be the same kind of fool that I presently find myself in the company of. Mara, you have the protection of Goliath and En Garde is Jericho’s best warrior for now. Leverage those facts as best you can and abandon these childish delusions.”
Longbow takes out his keys and stares at them. I consider snatching them from him and making a desperate run for my mother. As much as these demons like to tout their superiority, the ones in this arena are not of high quality. They are bullies who take advantage of the weakened state of their slaves. En Garde and I represent two of the deadliest. We can flee. I could kill Longbow, make it to my mother and free her. En Garde and I could fight through any resistance and we could run, or we could try. Does En Garde not have a point? Would it not be better to die in pursuit of this dream, rather than remaining complacent and allowing them to slice away parts of my soul day after day? My finger twitches, but I rationalize why it is better to live and fight another day. But what will another day bring? Are we any different than Longbow, as we speak of chances to escape, but remain here committing our atrocities?
The moment passes. I hear the cell door creak open, and the haunting echo of rusted metal as it slams shut. The sound of the lock turning cements my missed opportunity. For a second I think of taking action when a demon comes to collect En Garde, but I will no sooner take that chance than I did the one that just left me. I watch En Garde slump over. Who knows the next time he will get another high profile match up with someone like Twin Fang. How many people will he have to kill before then; how much of the soul will be stripped away? In this hopeless state, maybe there is a good reason to die.